


and after all

by alnima



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: (Harry has feelings for Zayn while in another relationship so I tagged that), Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Infidelity, First Time, Harry has a lot of feelings, Louis threatens to punch Harry, M/M, Minor Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Minor Zayn/OMCs, Roommates, Sexual Content, minor harry/ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: Zayn and Harry areroommatesand Zayn isexperiencedin things that Harry’s never even thought about. Zayn doesn’t always have guys coming and going, but Harry always knows when he does, when he’s sneaking back into the dorm in the middle of the night or when he comes stumbling home in the morning with disheveled hair and wearing the same clothes he left in. And it makes Harry wonder, makes him think about what that would be like, even if he’s never sure which part of it all he’s wondering about, if it’s Zayn, or if it’s the life that he gets to live.





	and after all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisonegoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/gifts).



> Lovely Grace, I started writing a completely different story that ended up getting away from me and kept growing and growing until it felt too big for me to finish in time for this exchange (funny, considering this was a little late), so I took a step back from it and tried out another prompt. Hopefully, after the author's reveals, I can have that fic ready for you, if you'll have it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

Harry’s getting ready for his 10 a.m. when Zayn comes stumbling into the room, bleary-eyed and smiling at Harry like he hasn’t had a wink of sleep. It’s not Harry’s place, but he worries about him on nights where he doesn’t get any sleep, from studying all night or…other things.

“I was wondering when you’d get back,” Harry says, yanking his bag off the floor and depositing it on his bed so he can throw the books he needs inside of it. “Did you have a good night?”

Zayn nods, dropping off the bed so he can unlace his boots. “It was all right. Thanks for waiting up for me,” he teases, making Harry roll his eyes.

“I didn’t wait up for you. _Some_ of us have morning classes.”

“How unfortunate for _some_ of you,” drawls Zayn, tossing his boots down and tugging of his shirt. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“You’ll be awake,” Harry promises, knowing why Zayn is asking. “After class, I’m going to get lunch with Niall, and then, I’ll be back.”

“Cool,” Zayn mutters, crawling into his bed and pulling the blankets up to his chin. “You enjoy Skype and your hand last night?”

Harry’s cheeks burn. He grabs a pen off his desk and chucks it at Zayn, groaning when it hits the wall instead of his head like he hoped it would. He hates when Zayn teases him about his Skype calls with Marissa, his girlfriend since the seventh grade. It’s not done maliciously, but still. Zayn _knows_ that Harry misses her.

“Did you enjoy,” Harry breathes out harshly, zipping his book up aggressively, unsure how he should end his thoughts out loud.

“Did I enjoy getting fucked?” Zayn sighs, rolling onto his back and stretching out. “Yeah. Repeatedly.”

“You’re disgusting,” Harry decides, swinging his bag over his shoulder and heading for the door. “Absolutely disgusting,” he emphasizes, ignoring the twist in his stomach at Zayn’s words.

*

They’ve just left their history lecture and are grabbing a bite to eat at a burger place a mile from school, and Niall looks bored when Harry recites the conversation that he had with Zayn this morning, from the moment Zayn stumbled in through the door to the moment that Harry stumbled out of it.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me all of this,” Niall says, stealing some of Harry’s fries. “Is there a point to it?”

“Well, no,” Harry sighs, shrugging. “But, you don’t think it’s fascinating how often he gets laid?”

Niall laughs and shakes his head. “Not really. Have you looked at him?”

“I’ve looked at him but not like…not like _that_.”

“You don’t have to look at him like _that_ ,” Niall mocks, rolling his eyes, “to know that he’s fucking hot. And what do you care about who he’s fucking, anyway?”

“I don’t care. It’s just… I don’t know. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

Niall looks at him curiously for a moment, tapping his finger against his chin. “I’m sure you don’t.”

Harry bites his lip and stares down at his food. He’s been in a relationship with the same girl since he was just shy of thirteen, and he’s never doubted that they were meant to be. But then, he was assigned to live with Zayn Malik in his second year of university, and Harry can’t help but wonder. He’s not sure what he’s wondering, but he thought… well, he thought no one even knew he was wondering.

Zayn and Harry are _roommates_ and Zayn is _experienced_ in things that Harry’s never even thought about. Zayn doesn’t always have guys coming and going, but Harry always knows when he does, when he’s sneaking back into the dorm in the middle of the night or when he comes stumbling home in the morning with disheveled hair and wearing the same clothes he left in. And it makes Harry wonder, makes him think about what that would be like, even if he’s never sure which part of it all he’s wondering about, if it’s Zayn, or if it’s the life that he gets to live.

But Zayn’s a good roommate. He’s quiet when Harry has to go to sleep early. He hardly ever kicks Harry out of their room, instead he elects to leave, and he always picks up after himself. He hasn’t tried to smoke in their room since Harry asked him not to nearly a year ago. They respect each other. They’re friends and it’s nice. Zayn is nice and he’s made living on campus enjoyable. But still… Harry wonders.

“And you shouldn’t talk about Zayn’s sex life like this,” Niall adds, dragging the plate with Harry’s fries across the table so they’re sitting in front of him instead.

“Like what?”

“Like it should be public discussion.”

Harry bites down on his lip and nods. “Are you going to come over tonight?”

“Can’t. I’ve got an exam in the morning and I think Louis and Liam have practice until late.”

Harry nods, expecting as much.

*

Zayn’s awake and eating a bowl of cereal when Harry gets back to their room, lying on his bed and half pressed against the wall. He’s got his laptop set up on the edge of the bed and he’s watching _The_ _Office_. He’s still in his underwear but he’s showered, his hair damp and dark, sticking to his forehead.

Harry slaps at Zayn’s bare foot as he passes him, tossing his bag on the floor and falling onto his bed, his face shoved into his pillows. He tries not to think about the paper that’s due in three days that only has thirty words written out of the ten pages that he needs. And then there’s a presentation that needs to be finished by tomorrow, though he doesn’t need it until dinner, for his evening class, and that means he can put it off until later.

“You okay over there?” Zayn asks as the end credits begin to play.

Harry bobs his head and rolls over, staring at the water stain on their ceiling. “Yeah, just thinking about when I can do my homework so I don’t have to do it now.”

“Dwight’s about to start a fire, you want to watch?”

Harry pretends to consider it but he’s already on his feet. “Wait, let me change,” he says, unzipping his jeans and stepping out of them before he falls into bed next to Zayn, leaning on his elbow so he can see the screen. His face is close to Zayn’s stomach, close enough that he can _feel_ the heat of Zayn’s skin.

“This is my favorite episode,” Zayn admits, sighing as he stretches out to dump to his empty cereal bowl on his desk.

When he lies back down, he pulls the laptop over so it’s resting on his lap and closer.

“I like when Angela tosses the cat into the ceiling and it falls back down, after Oscar disappears in the tiles.”

“Yeah, and then he falls back out.”

“Do you think they used a real cat for that scene?”

“Probably at first,” Zayn says, scratching his stomach. Harry’s eyes track the movement. “They probably had to change it when she tossed it and it fell.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

“Kevin stealing the snacks out of the vending machine.”

Harry laughs and nods, settling back to watch the scene. His face is still close to Zayn’s stomach, far enough away that he’s not touching him, but just enough to watch the way the muscles shift as he laughs, the way he tenses and vibrates, his legs curling slightly upwards, shifting the laptop around in his lap. Harry realizes he’s too close when he almost gets smacked in the face, so he leans back, sharing Zayn’s pillow.

“Would you want to work there?” Harry asks, nodding towards the screen where Michael is trying to shove his wallet into Stanley’s mouth.

Zayn’s face twists. “It would be entertaining, but I don’t know.”

“Are you still not sure what you want to do when your graduate?”

“No,” Zayn sighs, thumb tapping against his laptop. “I think my advisor is ready to kill me. I’m not sure who will get there first, him or my mom.”

Harry snorts. “Your mom would never kill you,” he says, remembering the petite woman that visits their dorm room frequently enough that she’s comfortable stealing Harry’s dirty clothes to wash – no matter how often he insists that it’s not necessary. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I suppose I will. But it’s probably easy to say when you have your whole life figured out, isn’t it?”

“I don’t have my entire life figured out,” Harry protests, sitting up and looking down at Zayn. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You declared your major before you even came to school, you’ve been dating the same girl since the day you were born—“

“Not since the day we were born.”

“—And not to mention, you’re already doing internships, so finding a job after school is going to be easy for you.”

Harry rolls his eyes because it’s not like that at all. Zayn has it right, it does seem like Harry has everything figured out. Though, lately, it feels like there’s a lot that Harry doesn’t have figured out. It’s like, when he thinks about his life, picturing it the way that he always has, his stomach gets tight, like he’s got it all wrong and something isn’t right, and if Harry were to just dig at the surface a bit longer, he’d figure it out. But Harry hasn’t spent any time considering these things, considering why it feels like his future is a lie, and he doesn’t know why but what he does know, is that somewhere deep inside that he has the answers.

Of course, it’s only for so long that Harry can continue lying to himself. Omitting the truth? Avoiding the truth, actually. That sounds about right.

*

Harry doesn’t think about it for a few days, instead he let’s his mind slip into overdrive for school so he can catch up on everything that he fell behind on. He dives into assignments and papers, knocks one of his presentations out of the park, and spends countless hours at the library studying, because it never fails that exams are back to back, like the school demands teachers get together so their schedules line up perfectly.

“What if I dropped out?” Niall asks, dropping his head down so it rests in his textbook, his cheek pressed against the pages as he looks up at Harry. “Would you help support me?”

“Support your decision or support your life?”

“Both, if you’re offering.”

Harry shrugs. “I would support your decision, but I wouldn’t be happy with it. I’d probably annoy you and make you stay in school.”

“Boo,” Niall whines, turning his head so his face is properly shoved in the pages, his words muffled when he speaks. “Can we be finished studying for the rest of our lives?”

Harry sighs. “Yeah,” he agrees, closing his book. He should argue against this, because really, they could both afford to study, but his eyes are beginning to feel dry and heavy, he’s so exhausted, and if he has to read the same line for a fifteenth time, he’s going to go crazy. “I should probably head back, I’m getting kind of tired.”

“Thank god,” Niall groans, lifting himself up so that he can throw all of his books in his bag. “Louis and Liam are down at Cicero’s having drinks, do you want to come?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I really am tired. I think I’ll just head back and go to sleep.”

“Boring, but suit yourself,” Niall says, tossing his bag over his shoulder. He offers Harry a wave before he wanders off, leaving Harry alone.

Harry leaves the library a few minutes later, stopping to get burritos from the place across the street. He grabs some for Zayn as well, hoping he’s awake when he gets back to their dorm.

The lights are off when Harry opens the door, so he figures Zayn must be at Cicero’s with everyone else, until he flips the light on and sees Zayn. He’s on his bed with some guy; one of the school’s baseball players that Harry thinks might be named Bryce or Bryan, something dumb. They’re kissing, pretty heavily, with that baseball player’s hand on Zayn’s ass as their hips rock together.

Harry feels shock for a moment, before his stomach bottoms outs. There’s a pain that feels like the twist of a knife and it’s ridiculous how betrayed Harry feels, like his arms could drop at his side and everything in his hands could go tumbling down to the floor like what happens to people in the movies, all because Zayn is kissing some guy in _their_ dorm room.

And when Harry blinks, trying to clear his head, it’s like a thousand alarm bells going off at once and he _gets_ it now, what he’s been wondering about for so long every time he looks at Zayn.

“Oh,” he breathes out and he nearly does drop the food in his hands, catching it quickly and hoping that he can sneak out of the door but his shoulder hits the wall and he cries out in pain.

The lights weren’t enough to get them to stop but the sound of Harry is. Zayn peels himself off the other boy, breathless, and he looks over at Harry.

“Shit, you okay?”

Harry nods, setting the food bags down on the counter. He blinks, rubbing at his eyes, and goes to set his bag down at his desk. “Sorry for interrupting,” he says, refusing to look at the pair of them. “I’ll, uh…head out.”

“No, you’re good,” Zayn tells him. “Brent was just leaving.”

Brent. That’s even lamer than Bryce or Bryan.

“I was?” Brent says, confused.

“You were.”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry says, already rushing for the door. He can’t be here right now. He just…he can’t. He needs… Harry doesn’t know what he needs but he needs to be away from here. “You two have fun,” he mumbles, wishing he could swallow the words back up.

*

Harry finds himself at a bus station across town, sitting next to an older woman with silvery hair wrapped in a thin floral scarf. She’s bundled up, despite it not being that cold outside, and she smiles at Harry warmly when he takes a seat. She reminds him of Niall’s grandmother, the sweetest woman who likes to wear shirts with pictures of Niall’s face on them, showing them off every time Harry has seen her walking on campus with a bag full of baked goods for her grandson. Harry’s never really been sure if the shirts are because she wants everyone to know who her grandson is and how proud she is of him, or if they’re to help people find who to take her to when she gets lost on campus.

“It’s awfully late for you to be out,” she says, tightening her coat around her body.

“I could say the same thing to you,” he replies, smiling at her. “You up to no good?”

She smirks and winks at him. “Isn’t everybody?”

“Maybe,” Harry laughs. “Though, I’m mostly here because I walked from across town and I’m much too tired to try and walk back.”

The older woman looks at him curiously. “Something on your mind?”

“A lot of things on my mind,” he answers, because how could there not be?

Harry’s spent the last two hours walking, going and going and going, until he couldn’t anymore, thinking about the way he felt when he saw Zayn with that baseball player—who he refuses to call by name, by the way.

It’s unlocked something in his mind, some box that has been shoved back there for god knows how long, forcing him to realize how many other times his stomach has twisted at the thought of Zayn and someone else.

He thought at first, what if he’s just not comfortable with seeing Zayn with a boy, if somewhere in his mind he’s not really as accepting as he thought he was, as he wants to be, but that conclusion never settled right in his gut, not when he’s finally letting things reveal themselves, not when he’s finally done lying to himself. He _knows_ why he’s always making comments when Zayn comes back home, why he always breathes a sigh of relief when Zayn rejects someone when they’re out, when he chooses to spend time with Harry instead of answering his phone.

There’s just so much going on in is head and it feels like maybe he’s not getting enough oxygen, or he never really was, to have so much tucked away.

“Did you ever have a moment where you figured out that you didn’t really know yourself quite as well as you thought you did?” He asks her, leaning back against the glass of the bus shelter. “Like, you’ve been lying to yourself for so long, ignoring all these clues and signs, because paying them any attention would mean that everything would change?”

“I’m not sure. How do you mean?”

“I’ve just been thinking, what if I’m too old to be discovering myself?”

The woman laughs, bright and cheerful. “Oh, honey. I think you’ve got a lot to learn if you think there’s ever any age where you’re too old to find out who you are. Some people are very lucky, so very blessed to know who they are at a young. But for the rest of us, we’ll get there when we get there and not a moment too soon. You understand?”

Harry nods and breathes in, hoping that he does. It’s does very little to make him feel better, but it’s a start.

*

It takes a week for Harry to admit to himself that he has feelings for Zayn.

It’s not an easy process, unfolding his entire life and examining every detail that he _thought_ he knew. It makes his chest tight and, at times, he feels like he’ll never be able to breathe again.

But then he says the words out loud, and it’s like he’s taking in air for the first time, his chest almost collapsing in relief, heaving in thick bursts of air, like his body and mind and soul have been waiting for him to get here.

It doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would, knowing the truth about himself, but that doesn’t stop him from being afraid of Zayn, being afraid that he’ll learn the truth and want to get away from Harry.

So, Harry pushes him away first.

It’s easy, especially when he’s already a little annoyed that he wasn’t warned about Zayn bringing someone over, so he wouldn’t have to walk in one them.

It’s polite, to warn your roommate about guests, and Zayn didn’t extend him that courtesy.

“Are you seriously still mad?” Zayn asks one night, leaning against their bathroom’s doorframe and watching as Harry brushes his teeth.

Harry shrugs and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“What are you even mad about? You’ve been stomping around here all week, barely speaking to me, and I have no fucking clue what’s going on,” Zayn groans.

Harry doesn’t know what to say to him, so he doesn’t say anything, just spits in the sink and continues brushing.

“All right, if you’re not going to talk then I’m going to toss out a couple theories and you can get that look on your face that’ll let me know I’ve got it right,” Zayn says, running his fingers through his hair. “Are you pissed because you and Marissa got into it again?”

Harry glares at him through the mirror.

“I didn’t think it was that. Normally, you’re a little whinier when that’s the case,” Zayn says and he looks at Harry, waiting. “Huh, thought that’d get you to talk. All right, did Louis say something? No, not that either. So, it’s definitely about me.”

Harry frowns, staring down at where the running water is floating into the drain instead of looking at Zayn, wondering if he should just come right out and tell him. Zayn would understand, how could he not? He’d be happy for Harry, until he found out the extent of it all, until he found out _how_ Harry _knows_.

“I know that I haven’t eaten any of your food lately, though I thought about it when you came home with those lemon cookies the other night,” Zayn admits. “But if we’re going to be honest with each other, we both know that this whole ordeal started the other night, when Brent was over.”

Harry’s face twists, his expression turning sour as he begins to scrub aggressively at his teeth, probably making his gums bleed.

“I figured as much,” Zayn grits out, rubbing angrily at his jaw and that makes Harry pause, pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth, because what does Zayn have to be angry about?

“You figured what?”

“Oh, now you want to talk? How about you go fuck yourself.”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “What the hell…”

“No, seriously, go fuck yourself,” Zayn shouts. “You’re mad that I had Brent over, right? So let’s figure out why. You’re either mad because I brought him period, and in that case, fuck you, because this is my dorm, too. Or, you’re mad because I didn’t tell you, and that’s fair enough, but you also told me that you were going to be pulling an all nighter.”

“Niall was tired of studying.”

“And that’s fine.”

“You’re not acting like it’s fine,” Harry says, rinsing his toothbrush and dumping it into the little cup that Zayn put on the edge of the sink for them. He wipes at his mouth with his arm, shutting off the water. “And you should have told me!”

“You’re not my fucking mom, Harry. I’ve had people over before without saying anything and it’s never been a big deal. Fuck, you’ve had people over before and I’ve never said anything. Your fucking girlfriend has stayed in our dorm for entire weekends without you warning me in advance, and I never threw a week long fucking fit about it.”

“I said sorry all of those times,” Harry yells back, aware that they’re being too loud for a dorm. Someone is going to bang on the wall soon or knock on their door and tell them to shut the fuck up, it always happens when they argue, which isn’t common, but both of them are stubborn and refuse to back down when they think they’re right, and they have a hard time admitting when they were wrong.

“And I said sorry for this time, multiple times,” Zayn rants. “But you’re still angry. And why is that?”

“You were getting ready to have sex with him and I walked in,” hollers Harry, watching as Zayn pauses, taking a step back.

“So you’re pissed because, what, because I was getting ready to fuck some guy, or because some guy was getting ready to fuck me? Take your pick,” Zayn spits out, looking at Harry like he wants to throttle him. “I don’t owe you a fucking explanation, but if I did, I’d tell you that neither was going to happen that night. You walked in on us doing exactly what it was, us kissing, so fuck you.”

“Fuck me?”

“Yeah, Harry, fuck you,” Zayn says, spinning on his heel.

Harry follows him, taking his place in the bathroom doorway and watching as Zayn starts to load a bunch of stuff up into a bag: books, his laptop, some clothes, everything that he can get his hands on.

“What are you doing?”

Zayn ignores him, shoving past him and leaving, slamming the door behind him.

*

Louis shows up the next day, just like the guard dog that he is. He’s furious, banging on Harry’s door until he answers, looking like he’s ready to kill Harry.

“What the _fuck_ did you say to him?” Louis demands, pushing Harry into his desk chair so they can talk. “You better have a good fucking explanation Harry, because I swear to _god_ , I’ll punch you in the face.”

“You wouldn’t punch me,” Harry sighs. “And we got into a fight.”

“About what?”

“About… I don’t know, he was angry. No, I was angry and that made him angry. I don’t know,” Harry lies, avoiding Louis’ eye. “There are a lot of reasons that he could be mad. Did you ask him?”

“Yeah, he said that you’re a dick and he wants to get away from you.”

“And?”

“And he’s crashing at my place, which means my girlfriend can’t come over.”

“Eleanor loves Zayn.”

“You know what the fuck I mean,” Louis interjects. “I’m not going to house him for a two weeks just so he can prove that he knows how to be angry better than you do. So, again, what did you do?”

“He thinks that—He thinks that I didn’t talk to him last week because he’s gay,” Harry says, shaking his head. “No, not—Well, he thinks I didn’t talk to him and I was angry because he brought a guy over to hook up with.”

“Explain why he would think that or I really will punch you in your fucking face,” Louis says, “because right now, you sound like you deserve it.”

Harry sighs, staring down at the hands in his lap and wonders what he should do. He doesn’t want Zayn or Louis or anyone, for that matter, to think that’s why he was upset.

“I think I’m gay,” Harry breathes, biting his lip and staring up at Louis.

Louis pauses, blinking at Harry for a second before he gets Zayn’s desk chair out and takes a seat.

“I mean, maybe I’m bi, or something, I don’t know the specifics, like a label or anything, but.” Harry shrugs, waiting.

“Is that why you were angry, because he’s able to act on that?” Louis says carefully, and Harry knows that he’s unsure about what he should be saying, because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.

Harry shakes his head. “I think I might like Zayn,” he admits, squinting at his feet. “I mean, maybe. Most signs and feelings point towards that general direction, but you never know. And that’s mostly why I’ve been avoiding him.”

“Because you were jealous?”

“Maybe. Possibly. Mostly that he’ll want to push me away because he doesn’t feel like that, which would…really fucking suck, so I thought, hey, why not do it first so that way he doesn’t have to it and won’t suck as much because it’ll feel like I have some control over the situation.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, rubbing his hands over his face. “Okay, Harry, I gotta tell you… No, I can’t tell you, but, like, you really need to apologize to Zayn.”

“I was planning on it, as soon as he’s back.”

Louis nods. “Harry, I don’t know what you’re supposed to do or say, but I’m really happy for you. Like, I _really_ am, and you’re one of my best friends, so you can come to me,” he says and Harry nods. “Listen, I’m gonna go back to my place and tell Zayn to get his ass back here, but you should know that you can talk to him, too. Above everything, he’s your friend, and he’ll understand better than anyone, if you just talk to him.”

“Yeah, I will,” he says, breathing a little easier because someone _knows_. Harry’s said it to someone else and the world didn’t erupt into flames. Everything is okay and it feels…

Harry feels relieved.

But he’s not ready to tell Zayn, not when he needs to apologize. So when Zayn comes slinking into their dorm a few hours later, his bag slung over his shoulder, Harry smiles.

“Hey,” he says, twisting in his chair so he can look at Zayn. “I’m really sorry about the other night, and all of last week.”

“Okay,” Zayn mutters, dropping his bag on the floor as he starts taking off his shoes.

“No, it’s not okay. I really am sorry for everything, for getting angry, for ignoring you, and for making you think that you inviting someone back to our dorm is a problem. It’s not, no matter who it is, and I swear that’s not— I’ve been stressed, and there was a lot on my mind, and I’m an asshole who takes things out on you when I shouldn’t, but it wasn’t about _that_ , okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn says, smiling. “I know that some of that fight was me, overreacting, so I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry for getting defensive. It’s hard sometimes, when it feels like people want you to feel sorry for who you are, but I’m not sorry about any of it, and I won’t ever apologize for it, or be made to feel badly for it.”

“I’m _so_ sorry, really.”

“I know you are, and I’m not saying that’s what you were doing, but it felt like it, and that’s why I stormed out of here.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you stayed gone.”

Zayn snorts and steps over, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, hugging his face to his chest. Harry shifts in his grip, so the back of his head is against’ Zayn’s chest. Zayn’s head comes down to rest on top of his and he sighs, closing his eyes.

“I know there’s more to it,” Zayn says and Harry freezes, wondering what Louis told him, “but I’m not going to push you on it. Louis made me realize that I never actually let you explain yourself, or even say what was bothering you, so I shouldn’t have jumped the gun and immediately lashed out.”

“I probably deserved it, I was being an ass.”

“Yeah, you usually are .”

“Hey,” Harry whines, turning his head up so he can look at Zayn, forcing Zayn to stand up a bit more to look down at him.

Zayn laughs. “Hey,” he mocks, leaning down to knock his chin against Harry’s forehead before he lets go of him completely. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll forgive you, if when I get out, you have ice cream and a movie ready.”

“We don’t have any ice cream,” Harry shouts after him.

Zayn grins and shrugs, grabbing his towel and heading towards the bathroom. Harry stares at the closed door, his mouth open, and it’s not until he hears the shower start that he jumps up, rushing to put on his shows and find his wallet.

*

Harry has it planned perfectly. It’s Sunday and Zayn’s home for once, catching up on his course work and that means he’ll feel tired and won’t want to go out. It gives Harry the perfect chance to sit him down and talk to him, let him know everything that’s been going on with him, the real reason behind his anger the other night, and maybe, possibly tell him about his feelings for him.

Harry’s been planning it in his head since he talked to Louis, not the first time, but the second time when Louis pulled him aside at Cicero’s and asked how everything went, if things are better between them, and if Harry talked to him about what they talked about. And when Harry revealed that he apologized but he hadn’t really made it any further, Louis had looked confused.

It’s all sort of a blur, which happens after a night of tequila shots, but it got Harry to think that if any of his friends are going to _get_ it, it’ll be Zayn, and now that Harry’s told one person, he feels like he wants to tell more, definitely not everyone, but definitely the people that Louis is mostly likely to tell by complete accident.

Plus, Harry thinks that going to the root of all of his problems will be best. Not that Zayn’s a problem, but just… It’s a figure of speech.

So, it’s a plan, to tell Zayn. To sit him down on his bed and tell him everything. _Everything_.

“All right, I’m heading out,” Zayn says, closing his laptop and getting up from his desk.

Harry stares at him, horrified, feeling sick to his stomach because this is not part of his plan. This is the absolute opposite of his plan. Why is Zayn breaking script? Harry’s played this out in his mind over and over again, but Zayn has never left, so why would he try it now, in real life? It’s just—It’s not…

“Why?” Harry asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“It’s Sunday, which means Marissa is going to call you at eight, and that’s in an hour. Plus, I promised Liam I’d come over and proofread his essay, and he’s getting impatient,” Zayn explains, and fuck Liam Payne and his inability to spell. And fuck Harry for completely forgetting about Marissa in all of this.

“But… I had this planned.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m leaving,” Zayn laughs. “This is probably going to take a while, but let me know when you’re finished so I know when it’s safe to come back.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts, all of which are circulating about what he wanted to talk to Zayn about. But it’s quickly changing into what he’s going to do now, how is he going to talk to Zayn and what he’s going to do about Marissa.

*

Though he might be rushing it, breaking up with Marissa is easier than he thought it would be.

She doesn’t take it well, but she doesn’t take it badly either. She’s not pleased with him, and she’s definitely hurt. She cried a little when Harry told her, covering her face from the camera like she didn’t want Harry to see, like he didn’t already know. But Harry cried, too, knowing that he’s upset her and that he’s even breaking up with her in the first place.

But it feels right.

After the call, Harry feels like there’s a weight lifted off his shoulders. He knows that he loves her. He’s always known that, but he also knows that it was time. And deep down, he reckons that Marissa knew it as well, because aside from everything he’s been feeling lately, they never get to see each other. It’s always Skype dates and FaceTime’s, or the rare weekend visit. Neither of them even tries to surprise the other anymore, and it was starting to feel like they were together just because they had been for so long and it’s what they were should do, what they’re supposed to do.

So, Harry finds that he’s not really as sad as he should be about it all, not when he’s ready to start a new chapter in his life.

Zayn comes back a little after eleven, looking exhausted. He offers Harry a smile, and then kicks off his shoes and drops into bed.

“How was it?” Harry asks, eyes on his laptop.

“Better than the last one, though I’m still amazed at what he manages to spell wrong, and how many different ways it’s spelled every time,” Zayn sighs. “I mean, you love him, but seriously, how has he not picked this up yet?”

“Some people have a hard time.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Zayn, rubbing his eyes. “It’s still exhausting on my end. I wish he’d figure out how to work Drive, so I can edit as he goes instead of getting to it in one big chunk. And I could do it in my own bed, without having to go to him.”

“I think that would require him to write in more than one sitting.”

Zayn laughs. “Yeah, that’s true. How were things here? You have a good time?”

“Uh, it was okay. Not really the best time.”

“You know that you’re allowed to give me the details. I’m not going to run crying, covering my ears or anything,” Zayn teases, flipping around on his stomach and grinning at Harry. “Unless you don’t have any details.”

“We broke up,” Harry says, scratching his cheek.

“Oh, shit,” mutters Zayn, twisting so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “Fuck, I wasn’t expecting that. I’m sorry, man. Are you okay? Do you want to, like, go out or something? I don’t think many places are open on a Sunday this late, but we can figure something out. We can head to the grocery store and use the floor’s kitchen to cook anything you want. We could make sundaes again, like when you two got into that fight last year. Fuck, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry laughs, closing his laptop and pushing it off to the side. “I don’t know, it just happened.”

“But how, man? Did she break up with you?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, she didn’t. And it just happened, I don’t know. I think it was a long time coming, and I think she knew that too. It sucks, and we’re both sad about it, but. I’m fine, really.”

“Harry, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Harry laughs, covering his face and groaning. “I’m not pretending with you, not about that. It really is for the best. I’ve been realizing lately that I have feelings for someone else,” he says, staring at the fraying edges of his shirtsleeve, tugging at the loose string and wondering if it’ll unravel before Zayn says anything.

“Wow,” Zayn mutters, and when Harry looks at him, he’s scratching his neck, a look on his face that Harry doesn’t know how to read. “Who is it?”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you right now.”

“Why not? I’m your best friend?”

“You’re not my best friend,” Harry protests, even though he is, and Harry could have lived without that fun little fact because now he can never tell Zayn that he likes him, it’ll just ruin their friendship. “And even if you were, that doesn’t mean I have to tell you.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, pulling his leg under him. “While that might be true, you can’t just tell me that you’ve broken up with your girlfriend of a million years because you like someone else and not give me any details. Do I know her?”

Harry’s face scrunches up. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe.” Technically he does, but Harry doesn’t live inside of Zayn’s head, he doesn’t know how well he knows himself, and so guessing maybe is fine. It’s not lying. He could have an early quarter life crisis soon and it’d prove Harry right.

“I can’t even think of anyone. Give me a clue. What color hair do they have?”

“I don’t like this game.”

“Tough shit. It’s just hair color.”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s dark. Maybe it’s black, but maybe it’s brown and just really, really dark, almost like black.”

“Huh,” Zayn mutters, thoughtful. “Is it Sam?”

“No. Who is Sam?”

“This girl in one of my classes. Is it, oh is that girl down the hall?”

“Please, no. It’s no one, honestly. You probably don’t even know them.”

“Them? Are they—“

“A boy,” Harry says, swallowing heavily when Zayn looks at him.

“You never said that to me. Are you…Oh my god, Harry,” Zayn says, getting up to hug his friend. “Well now you have to tell me. Seriously, I can set it up. Fuck, I love introducing people. You introduced Louis and Eleanor, and Niall introduced Liam and Deanna, it’s my turn to play matchmaker.”

“No, I want to tell him. I have a whole speech in my head,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I just think that I should do it, you know? He’s…important to me, and I don’t want to fuck this up, and I don’t think you could really do anything as matchmaker, all things considered. We’d have to ask Liam, or something, so he could get his turn as matchmaker, a two for one kind of thing, and I know you’re probably feeling bad about Marissa and I, but. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Zayn’s hand is raised halfway to his mouth, which is hung open as he stares at Harry, like a statue.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, pushing towards the edge of his bed, letting his legs dangle over the sides. “Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

“You’re talking about me,” Zayn mumbles, face twisting briefly. “This guy that you like. It’s me, isn’t it?”

Harry’s mouth parts, biting back words that he doesn’t know how to form, the simplest of words, just a few letters long, but his brain has shut off momentarily, all functions turning straight to survival mode, his fight or flight instincts kicking in because the look on Zayn’s face spells rejection and Harry hadn’t planned for this, so he grabs his things and runs, leaving their dorm to Zayn.

*

“Maybe it’s not what you think,” Niall says, handing Harry something to drink as he slumps on his couch, pouting.

“You weren’t there.”

“No, but I know how you can be.”

Harry glares at him over the rim of the glass, because that’s so rude. He’s not going to say anything though, because Niall has taken everything Harry’s dumped on him in stride tonight, not even so much as blinking, like he already knew everything and he was expecting this, from Harry’s feelings to Zayn’s lack thereof.

“It was in his eyes. He has very expressive eyes,” Harry reasons, wishing there was a way to turn his water into alcohol without having to get up and get the alcohol, since it doesn’t look like Niall is going to give him any. “I shouldn’t have said anything. People don’t really like to know those kinds of things.”

“What things?”

“When you like them,” Harry explains and Niall makes a face.

“Why wouldn’t anyone want to know that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever said it to one person,” Harry shouts, unnecessarily raising his voice.

Niall sighs, lying back on his bed and staring up at his ceiling. “You didn’t even tell him, technically. He guessed it and you ran.”

 _Well_ , Harry thinks, _if we’re going to throw out reason_. It’s not like he didn’t think about that, like he didn’t already know that little fact, because it took several reiterations of what he said before he and Niall could figure out how Zayn knew whom Harry was talking.

Apparently he over shares when he’s nervous ranting, go figure.

“Technically, he’s still allowed to freak out about the whole thing. He’s still allowed to…hate me, or whatever,” Harry says, nodding when Niall snorts. “I’m being serious. Imagine how you would feel if I came over here and told you in some roundabout way that I had feelings for you. How would _you_ feel?”

“I don’t know. Try it,” Niall challenges, making Harry sigh. “Listen, Zayn’s not the type of guy to make you feel badly about shit like that,” he says, turning his head so he can look at Harry. “He was probably shocked, more than anything. It’s kind of huge surprise to hear you figured out you’re into dudes, ended your insanely long relationship, and now you’re into our best friend. And like, that’s coming from me, so yeah, if you laid that all on me, I’d be surprised and a little speechless as well, if I were Zayn.”

“I did lay all of that on you,” Harry grounds out, feeling slightly embarrassed, like maybe he’s doing everything wrong and there’s no way for him to take any of it back, “and you didn’t react at all.”

Niall grins. “Yeah, but not everyone is as great as I am.”

“You’d be great if you told me what I should do.”

“I don’t know, dude. Go home, talk to him. Ignore him for the rest of your life, it’s up to you.”

“I can’t ignore him,” Harry sighs.

“Then go back to your dorm,” Niall says, rolling onto his stomach and then off the bed. He shrugs at Harry when he glares at him, like it really is that simple and Harry is just over thinking things.

It doesn’t feel that easy, but it doesn’t feel that complicated either. Feelings aren’t returned everyday, and, yeah, it sucks, but that’s life, and the sooner Harry accepts and faces his rejection, the sooner he can find another way to get started on this chapter of his life. Zayn is still going to be his best friend, no matter what, so no point in hiding away from him.

Besides, Niall’s right. Zayn isn’t going to let Harry down harshly or mock him for anything he’s said or felt. It’ll be fine, he’s sure of it. Kind of. A little bit.

*

When Harry comes back home, Zayn is waiting for him. He’s sitting at his desk, drumming a pencil against the wood. He jumps up to greet Harry, the pencil dropping to the floor with a clatter when it rolls off the desk.

“Thank god,” he mutters, like he was worried. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back tonight.”

“Thought about it,” Harry admits, patting his hands against his thighs as he looks around. “Niall kind of told me to either ignore you forever or come home, and coming back seemed like the more reasonable of my options, so… Here I am.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, wetting his lips. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“I _really_ don’t want to talk about it, actually.”

“Yeah, I get that, and we won’t after I get to say what I want to say.”

Harry breathes out and nods. It’s only fair. He got to kind of sort of tell Zayn how he was feeling, so he supposes that it makes sense that Zayn get his rant in before Harry takes a shower for as long as it takes for Zayn to fall asleep, so he can get dressed and slip into bed and maybe have a very casual cry into his pillow.

“So you like me,” Zayn says and Harry makes a face, but nods, because he’s already guilty, so there’s no point in lying about it. “I’m mostly confused on when this happened. And I’m not going to say I thought you were straight, because obviously that can change, but I will say that I thought you were into your girlfriend.”

“I was.”

“You were? You’re not anymore.”

“Not in the way I should be,” Harry admits. “And not in the way that I was years ago.”

“So you’re really okay with that being over?”

Harry nods and then shrugs. “I mean, it sucks, but. Obviously I’m going to be upset about it, but it’s my decision, so what right do I have to wallow in my own misery, when I’m not all that miserable about it in the first place? And if you’re just looking for ways to prove that my feelings aren’t what they are, you can just stop now, because I don’t want to hear it.”

“I wasn’t going to do that,” Zayn assures him.

“Good, because like I said, I don’t want to hear it. If you’re going to reject me, then I would hope that you respect me enough as a person to tell me now instead of confusing me or making me guess.”

Zayn looks at Harry thoughtfully, fingers scratching at his stubble. He’s quiet for a several long moments, studying Harry carefully. “I wasn’t going to reject you,” Zayn says softly, wetting his lips. “I can see why you would assume that, but my silence was surprise. You threw me a curveball and I needed a moment to process everything.”

“I can understand that, and I’m sorry for running off.”

“It’s okay. You could make it up to me by taking me out, if you wanted.”

Harry releases a deep breath and nods. “Okay, yeah. I’m not really in the mood for anything right now, unless you wanted to get a burger or something. Though, I think you should owe me as well, for making me worry.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees easily. “I’ll take you on a date to say sorry, if that’s what you want.”

“Wait,” Harry mutters, frowning. “A date?”

Zayn laughs. “I told you that I wasn’t rejecting you, so yeah. A date. Unless you don’t want to, because it is kind of soon.”

“A date?”

“A date.”

Harry breathes out, running his fingers through his hair. He looks around, trying to see if there’s anyone else around to witness this moment, because he can’t believe it, and he’s almost positive that his mind is playing tricks on him.

“Are you being serious?” He asks.

“Yeah. If you really like me, then let’s try this,” Zayn says and Harry grins, nodding his head.

*

Louis corners Harry in the library a few days later, a book pressed to Harry’s chest and Harry’s eyes go wide, wondering what he did wrong until he sees the pleased little smile on Louis’ lips.

“You finally told Zayn,” Louis says, nodding like he’s impressed.

“I did, yes.”

“Holy shit,” Louis laughs, tugging Harry away from someone glaring at them, angry about them talking in the library, which, funny considering how fucking loud the place is from everyone else in the building, because no one is actually quiet in the library anymore. “I didn’t think you’d do it. I’m actually kind of impressed.”

Harry will take it, as long as Louis isn’t threatening to punch him in the face. He can take Louis being happy and proud of him, just for telling Zayn that he has feelings for him.

“He kind of pulled it out of me. I got nervous and just told him.”

“Yeah, he already told me everything. Don’t get that face, no one has told Liam. Besides, he only told me because I asked if you two made up, and then we played a very elaborate game of ‘well, what do you know?’ until he realized that I knew everything, besides the bit about the dates. You didn’t tell me that.”

“It happened a while after I spoke to you, though, in my defense.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, waving him off with a flick of his wrist and a roll of his eyes. “Do you really think I care about that? What do you have planned?”

“He’s taking me out, so I don’t have any plans, as of right now.”

Louis nods. “Call me about it afterwards. Not immediately after, but like, soonish. I’m so fucking happy for you guys,” he says, pulling Harry into a hug. “Okay, I need to get the hell out of here, but I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah, of course,” promises Harry, watching Louis turn to go.

“Oh, and Harry,” Louis says, turning back around, “if you break his heart, I’ll punch you in the face, do you understand?”

Harry smiles and nods, because he has no intention of it, but he’s happy to know that Louis is still Louis.

“And I guess I’ll punch him if he breaks your heart.”

“Thanks, Louis. I appreciate it.”

*

Going on a date with Zayn, feels a lot like hanging out with Zayn. Except for the panicking beforehand.

Harry spends a lot of time digging through his half of the closet, trying to find something that Zayn hasn’t seen him in a million times. He’s a college student, so he doesn’t have the funds to go out and buy a brand new outfit, not unless he wants to go without eating for a while, which seems like a pretty good idea when he realizes he has nothing. Zayn’s been living with him for ages now, of course he’s seen all this shit.

Harry manages, though. He finds a sweater shoved in the back, under a pile of dirty jeans. He throws it on and waits. They took turns using the rooms, Harry using the bathroom first while Zayn grabbed his clothes and then they swapped. It feels weird getting ready for a date with his date just on the other side of the wall, waiting for him to shout out that he’s ready.

Zayn exits the bathroom looking marvelous, his hair is messy, hanging off to one side, and he’s trimmed is facial hair. There’s a hoop in his nose now, instead of the stud he’s been wearing and Harry didn’t notice it earlier. His jeans are loose but not too loose, like he hasn’t left 2007, and Harry is amazed, unable to take his eyes off him.

“Is that my shirt?” Zayn asks, tossing his other clothes on his bed, the ones he’s just changed out of.

“Oh, is it?” Harry asks, frowning as he looks down at it. “You don’t look like you’d wear a sweater with rabbits on it.”

“I haven’t in a while, because I haven’t seen it.”

“It was under my jeans pile. Do you want me to take it off?”

“No, I like it. Keep it on.” Zayn smiles at him, shoving his wallet in his pocket. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, nodding and scrambling towards the door.

Zayn takes him to their favorite Korean place; the one with the soup that Harry swears cures his colds every winter. Zayn doesn’t buy it, but it’s never stopped him from joining Harry when he goes, bundled in a sweater and a thick winter coat, with a scarf wrapped around his face and a hat shoved on his face, his gloved hands shoved in his pockets as he complains, until he breathes in the aroma of the soup and that’s it. He’s cured.

Zayn just doesn’t believe it because it’s all mind over matter, and he’s never going to get over his colds this coming winter if he doesn’t figure it out.

They get their regular order, and it still feels like they’re just hanging out. Which is good, it takes some of the pressure off when Harry forces himself to remember that this is Zayn and he doesn’t have to impress him.

They talk about their classes, assignments they have coming up, and stuff they’ve seen around campus, swapping stories about the strange people that they go to school with. Zayn saw a group of kids walking around in cloaks with light sabers, trying to direct traffic until security chased them down in a golf cart. Or when Harry saw the chess club trying to break into one of the chem labs.

Afterwards, they skip taking the bus and decide to walk back.

The air is cool at night, and Harry’s glad that he grabbed something with long sleeves, as the autumn air starts to roll in.

“Do you want to get ice cream, or something?” Zayn asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at Harry.

Harry thinks about it for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, not really. We still have some at our dorm, anyway.”

Zayn smiles, crooked and beautiful. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? Assuming you had fun, of course.”

“I always have fun with you,” Harry says, earnestly. “That sounds like a line, but it’s not. And we could always eat ice cream at our place, and watch a movie.”

“Doesn’t feel like much of a date, to do what we always do. I had a hard time figuring that out, what we could do that could set it apart.”

“The intention is different,” Harry says reasonably. “And that’s what counts. And besides, I like what we do. I think the only way this could go wrong is if our friends show up, and that’d put a damper on my night, I don’t know about yours.”

“No, I told Louis if he showed up I’d—“

“Punch him in his face?”

Zayn shakes his head, puzzled. “No. Why would I punch him?”

“It was a joke, because he’s always saying it.”

“When does he say that?” asks Zayn.

“Oh,” Harry realizes, “He doesn’t say that to you.”

“And he says it to you?”

“You know what,” Harry says, “I’d like revise my other statement. Talking about our friends will also ruin my night, unless there’s some kind of juicy gossip and then we can talk. Do you know anything I don’t?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Perfect, then there’s no one reason for us to keep talking about this.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, laughing as he digs his hands out of his pockets, looping his arm around Harry’s so they’re walking closely. “You’re weird,” he decides, smiling.

They watch a movie when they get back, after changing into their pajamas. Harry grabs a pint of ice cream - a cinnamon roll flavor that Harry thought would be fun to try, even if Zayn made a face at it – while Zayn starts the movie, _Minions,_ a true date movie, because Harry is trying to show that he’s considerate of the things that Zayn likes, even if he’d rather lick the bottom of his shoe. Not really, okay. _Minions_ isn’t that bad if he focuses on the ice cream and the fact that he’s ending the night with Zayn, warm in his bed.

It’s the second first date that Harry’s ever been on, but it’s one of the best.

*

Harry kisses Zayn first a few days later. It’s not spectacular, nothing to write home about and nothing to put in the movies. The kiss is, but not the way it happens.

There are no romantic declarations of feelings, or a heavy downpour that soaks their clothes and their hair, like there is in the movies. Or at least like in _The Notebook_ , anyway. It’s just them, the two of them as they usually are.

They’re lying on Zayn’s bed watching _The Office_ and Harry is feeling sleepy and satisfied, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder and listening to him laugh. They’ve gone back to the beginning, when Michael is even more ridiculous and offensive. Zayn loves this, laughing more than Harry has seen anyone laugh when they watch the show.

And it’s as simple as Zayn asking if Harry wants any popcorn that does it. Because Harry’s been looking at him for so long, feeling like his chest is full because of him and he doesn’t know what that means but he likes it.

He likes the way that Zayn makes him feel, which feels like he’s won the grand prize, so it feels natural and instinctual when he leans forward and presses his lips against Zayn’s.

Zayn freezes, staring at Harry when he pulls away, and Harry has a moment of panic that he might have fucked all of that up entirely but then Zayn says, “Did you mean to do that?” and Harry nods and shrugs.

And then Zayn’s back in his space, cupping his jaw and kissing Harry softly, just a brush of his lips.

They stay like that, their mouths pressed together until Zayn sighs, running his thumb along Harry’s jaw. He leaves to go make popcorn and when he comes back, he kisses Harry again, smiling at him before he hits start on their show.

*

“You’re both sick,” Louis says, scrolling through Harry’s phone, shifting his body around so Harry can’t take the device back. There’s nothing incriminating on there, but still. It’s their private conversation. “Honestly, this is like opening a bag of sugar and sticking my face in it. Not just any sugar, but like those candies that make your teeth hurt.”

“I think you guys are great.” Liam says and Louis rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being sweet to each other over the phone.”

Harry groans, covering his face with his hands and wishing that the Earth would swallow him up. It’s been an hour of the three of them – Niall, Liam, and Louis – making comments about him and Zayn. It’s not unexpected. They’re his best friends and they’re _them_ , so this makes sense, but still.

Harry’s alone and Zayn’s not here to defend their honor.

“Can I have my phone back?” Harry asks, his voice muffled by his hands.

“Yeah, but you’re not going to find your dignity in there,” Louis teases, making Niall cackle.

“Why are you all such jerks?” Harry groans, shoving his phone under his pillow. “I just wanted to take a nap. I didn’t want you all here.”

“You let us in,” Niall says.

“And it was a grave mistake on my part, so how about we allow myself to redeem myself by having you all just very casually and calmly walk out.”

Liam at least has the sense to look like he’s thinking about it, Niall and Louis simply shake their heads, lying back on Zayn’s bed and grinning at him like they’re going to set up a permanent residency there, like maybe they’ll turn into little throw blankets that can keep Zayn’s feet warm in the colder months.

“All of this is unfair. I’m supportive of you all.”

“And we’re supportive of you. Really, we are,” Liam says.

“But when two of your friends start dating, I’m pretty sure we’re allowed to mock the fact that you blew us off to watch romantic comedies.”

“First of all, it was more than just romantic comedies, and second of all, it was a date,” Harry shouts, because why don’t they believe him? “You’ve never watching _A Walk to Remember_ on a date before? And we’re not dating, not really.”

“No, we haven’t,” Niall laughs.

“Shame,” Harry sniffs, removing his hands from his face. “You’re obviously not on our level, and I’m very sorry for all of you, but.

“But nothing, shithead,” Louis says, causing Niall’s laughter to become more intense. “We’re seriously only fucking with you. We’re really happy that you two are calling your alone time dates now.”

“He’s joking,” Liam assures him and Harry waves him off. He’s dealt with Louis enough to know how he is and that he’s not being malicious. He cornered Harry in the library to find out the details of it all, and then asked to be told more immediately. It’s not like Harry doesn’t know that he’s putting on a show and that teasing is how Louis shows affection sometimes.

“Where is lover boy, anyway?” Niall asks, bouncing his leg impatiently.

Harry stops to think for a moment, trying to remember Zayn’s schedule. “He had class. He should be here soon.”

“Cool,” he mumbles, nodding. “You two have plans tonight or are you going to come to Cicero’s?”

Harry makes a face. “I don’t know what we’re doing, you’ll have to ask him.”

“He’s going to tell us to ask you,” Louis says, “so how about you just decide now?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got work to do and I really haven’t seen in him two days, thanks to Liam over here and his inability to write his own papers.”

“Zayn helps at the writing center, it’s his job to help,” Liam protests. “And he’s helping more than just me. It’s nearing a break, which means there’s a lot of paper’s being written, and you should be happy, that’s more money so you can rent the rest of the Nicholas Sparks movies.”

“The fact that you know it’s a Nicholas Sparks movie proves to me that you watch it, you little brat,” Harry grumbles, watching Liam’s cheeks redden.

There’s a fumbling noise across the room, as the door swings open, Zayn’s face is surprised to see their room is crowded.

“Hey, I didn’t know you guys were coming over,” says Zayn, waving as he shuts the door.

“You’re here,” Harry cries, when the door swings open and Zayn walks into their dorm.

“I live here,” Zayn says in response, dropping his bag on the floor.

“Yeah, but they don’t,” Harry says, motioning towards their friends. “Kick them out.” He doesn’t really want to go Cicero’s anyway, not tonight.

Zayn shrugs “Okay,” he mutters. And he’s kicking off his shoes and moving towards Harry. He smiles at him and then falls down on top of him, kissing him once and then adjusting himself so Harry is caged under his arms and legs. “Everyone out,” he says, pulling Harry into another kiss.

*

Kissing Zayn is great. It’s _so_ fucking great, don’t get him wrong, but Harry _needs_ more. He wants it. They’ve been kissing for ages now, for days and weeks, so much kissing.

Zayn’s already on top of him, rocking into him carefully, his jeans pressing deliciously into Harry. Zayn’s hips jerks forwards every time Harry tugs on his hair, gripping it in his fist and pulling his head back so he can suck under his chin, nipping at the skin to catch his breath.

Harry doesn’t think Zayn does it deliberately; it feels more like a reflex, so Harry pushes back up, resting a hand at the base of Zayn’s spine and grinding his hips up until Zayn gasps, pulling back to look at him, mouth red and wet and raw, lips swollen just a pinch, but enough to make Harry want to suck on them, bite them, just to see how plump they can get.

“What?” Harry asks, kissing along Zayn’s throat, pulling back to look at him.

Zayn wets his lips, hands resting on either side of Harry’s head. “That feels a little…soon, don’t you think?”

“No,” Harry says. “Not for me. But if it is for you, then that’s okay.”

“No, I meant for you.”

“Think I can speak for myself when I say that I’d really like to, you know, take the next step in some way.”

“I’m not fucking you,” Zayn says, firmly. “And you’re not fucking me,” he adds, when Harry opens his mouth to say that he can work with that, if Zayn means what he thinks he does, but apparently he didn’t. “But I can do something.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, letting Zayn gather his hands to pin them over his head, holding him there as he kisses him again, open mouthed and messy, with their tongues as he presses down on top of him, rolling his hips. Harry groans in his mouth, wishing he had his hands back so he could grip onto Zayn and get his hips to work in just the right way.

Zayn’s hand lets go of his grip on Harry’s hands and adjusted his position, lifting his body up with a kiss to Harry’s mouth, dragging his lips and tongue down Harry’s neck, nipping at his collarbone. Every bit of Harry feels like he’s on edge, like his nerves are alighting for the first time.

Zayn drags his nails down Harry’s ribs, keeping his hands on Harry’s hips as he slides down his body. Harry breathes out harshly, dropping his hands to his sides and waiting because he’s done this game before, having someone slide down his body, spreading his thighs so they can settle between them, and maybe it’s never been this particular game, but he knows what’s to come.

“Still okay with this?” Zayn asks, licking at Harry’s dick through his boxers, nosing at the material covering Harry’s hardening dick.

“I—yeah, yeah,” he breathes, nodding, even if he feels a drop of fear because he’s never done _this_ before. He’s never had someone between his thighs that wasn’t Marissa, and as much as he doesn’t want to think about her right now or compare his time with her to his time with Zayn, this is different. He knows this but he doesn’t know _this_ , and it scares him, like maybe the two will be different and he’ll realize that he’s made a mistake.

Zayn frowns, his thumb brushing against Harry’s thigh comfortingly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry repeats and then he swallows, releasing some of his nervous energy. “Just worried.”

“About?”

“I’m scared,” Harry admits, watching Zayn tilt his head curiously, waiting, knowing there’s more to it than that. “It just feels like my first time all over again.”

Zayn smiles at him and then leans down to kiss Harry, pulling some Harry’s nerves away with him when he pulls away. “You don’t have to think about it like that. It’s just your first time with a guy.”

“Not just any guy.”

“No, just your favorite guy,” teases Zayn, making Harry laugh. “Now, can I suck your dick?”

Harry nods and he feels relaxed, watching as Zayn settles back between his legs. He pinches Harry’s thighs, smiling at him before he lowers his mouth, placing a kiss just at the tip of Harry’s dick, and then he presses his tongue down, flat and wet, getting Harry’s boxers damp.

Harry swallows thickly, feeling his throat go tight at the sight and the feeling, the sensation, his hips lifting impatiently, wanting to know what it feels like to have Zayn on him, to _feel_ Zayn.

The hands on Harry’s hips shift, sliding into Harry’s underwear as Zayn tugs them off and Harry thinks _yes,_ _finally_ , and kicks his legs until the material is sliding onto the floor and Zayn is laughing at him, eyes bright.

“Any day now,” Harry teases, making Zayn pinch the back of his knees. “I’m joking.”

“Watch who you joke with,” Zayn jokes, eyes locked with Harry’s as he lowers himself, taking Harry in his hand and licking a broad strip up his dick, making Harry’s hands clench into a fist, his nails digging into his hands so he doesn’t do anything drastic like grab Zayn’s hair.

Zayn swirls his tongue along the tip, sucking at the head for a moment before his tongue travels back down until he’s mouthing at Harry’s balls, making Harry curse when Zayn takes one in his mouth, smirking at Harry’s reaction.

And it feels right. There’s no difference in the way Harry feels. It’s just another thing that’s clicking into place for him, another moment of his life as of late where his mind and body and soul are rolling their eyes at him for being so late to the party but happy he got there anyway.

When Zayn takes him in his mouth, swallowing him down, Harry feels wrecked. His chest is heaving and his palms ache from his nails, but his stomach is dropping pleasantly and Zayn’s mouth is warm and _wet_ and he’s making these noises, like he’s so fucking content to have his mouth around Harry, as he sucks him off, and _fuck_.

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry grips Zayn’s hair, gently nudging him and Zayn groans, choking a bit and Harry’s hands drop to his sides, his eyes widening in horror.

“You’re fine,” Zayn says, breathless, when he pulls off. “Seriously, you’re fine.”

“I didn’t mean to choke you.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, grabbing Harry’s hand and putting it in his hair before he swallows him once more, teeth dragging slightly and Harry groans, panting as he grips Zayn’s hair tightly. Zayn’s cheeks hollow and his face is flushed, covered with spit and _fuck_ , Harry’s pre come.

“You’re really—this is,” Harry chokes, panting harshly as Zayn bobs his head, one hand gripping Harry’s cock and the other cupping his balls, and a finger drags along the sensitive skin just below his balls, barely touching his ass before he’s coming, grunting as it’s pulled out of him, like it’s being ripped from his body with how he jerks, twisting, gripping Zayn’s hair. His toes curl and Zayn takes it, sucking at the head of Harry’s dick until Harry feels like he’s going to die from overstimulation, until he’s begging for Zayn to stop, throat hoarse.

“Wow,” Harry breathes out, covering his eyes with his arm because _wow_. The best orgasm that Harry’s ever had. Probably will ever have, maybe. Hopefully not, but it’ll forever be in the top five.

He tosses his arm off his face, looking at Zayn, who has gotten himself out of his pants.

Zayn grins at him, breathless, and Harry grabs his arm, tugging at it until Zayn falls forward, catching Harry’s mouth in a kiss and Harry can taste himself and he loves it, loves what it means and how it makes his stomach twist, his dick twitch like he could go again. And he could, maybe, if Zayn could give him twenty or thirty minutes, but Zayn hasn’t even come yet and Harry’s always been complimenting on how polite he is, how considerate he is of other people, and it just won’t do to have Zayn’s hard dick pressing into his side, so he slides his hand down, fingers barely touching Zayn before he breathes out harshly into Harry’s mouth.

Zayn’s thick, Harry can feel that, like…thicker than Harry would have imagined, and he’s cut. Harry’s unable to stop tracing the head of his dick, wondering what it would be like taste it, to touch it with his tongue for just a moment. But Zayn’s hips press forward and Zayn’s saying, “come on,” into Harry’s mouth so Harry tightens his grip.

He keeps the pace slow, at first, gently stroking Zayn as Zayn kisses him harder, gripping Harry’s cheeks and it’s all tongue, and it’s enough to make Harry forget what he’s doing but he wants to make Zayn feel, Harry wants him to feel _good_ because of him.

Zayn groans and it sounds like it was supposed to be a word. Harry shifts, changing the angle of his wrist and rubbing his thumb against the tip of Zayn’s dick, feeling Zayn breathe harshly against his cheek. Harry strokes Zayn’s dick, as Zayn’s hips snap forward, like he needs to come, like he wants this as much as Harry does, and not just because his dick in Harry’s hand, because he actually wants this with Harry.

And then Zayn’s coming with a stilted cry, hips jerking and Harry wishes that he could see his face as Zayn moans in his ear, breathing harshly for a minute.

Harry’s lies there, rubbing Zayn’s back until he sits up, grinning at Harry lazily, content.

“How was it?” asks Zayn, grabbing Harry’s wrist before he can wipe the come off his hand and onto his shirt. “Good?”

Harry nods, eyes going wide as Zayn licks the come off Harry’s fingers, eyes locked with Harry’s, and maybe Harry doesn’t need twenty minutes until he can go again.

*

Zayn sleeps in Harry’s bed that night, half against the wall and half on top of Harry. The two of them were cramped for space, in the tiny twin bed, which meant that Harry nearly rolled off the bed and onto the floor several times throughout the night.

Zayn’s sleeping when Harry wakes up, carefully shifting out from underneath like a cat does when you’re cuddling them and they’ve decided they’ve had enough but you won’t let go. He makes it out of it, stubbing his toe on the bed, and it takes everything in him not to groan and curse, to slam his hand down on the table because why the hell does it have to hurt so badly?

Harry grabs his clothes, throwing them into the bathroom angrily before he grabs his towel so he can take a shower. He feels kind of gross, old ruminants of sweat and god knows what else sticking his to his skin. Harry stands under the water, rubbing it into his face, waking himself up. He stares down at himself, feeling some of the exhaustion leave his body with the water.

And in true college roommate fashion, Harry uses Zayn’s shampoo when he realizes that he doesn’t have any. He’s prepared to argue that he did help Zayn have three orgasms last night and not like they’re trading sex for favors, but three orgasms sounds like enough to warrant him a little shampoo. It’s not like he wants to borrow Zayn’s toothbrush.

There’s a lot going on in Harry’s head, running off how quickly he’ll need to dress and if he’ll have enough time to stop for coffee or if he’ll have to run to class. He doesn’t even know what time it is, so maybe he’s woken up early and he’ll have to waste time for a while. Or he could wake Zayn up, but then he’d have to shower again, and that’s not going to work.

There’s enough time for Harry to get dressed, towel off his hair, and maybe stop to get a cup of coffee if the line isn’t long enough. Harry doesn’t know what to do about Zayn, unsure if he should wake him to let him know that he’s not running away, but he has a 10 a.m. and he can’t be late because there’s a quiz, or if he should trust him to know all of that.

Harry’s never done this before, slept with someone he wasn’t dating, with someone he didn’t know wanted him in the same way that he wanted him, and that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?

*

It’s not a big deal, and Harry’s not going to start anything, but it upsets him to know that he doesn’t know where Zayn is with everything. With him. It’s not like Harry wants a commitment or anything, just something so he knows how much of himself to invest to this, to Zayn, and to their time together.

Going to Zayn is out of the question. Harry doesn’t want to embarrass himself, so he goes to Louis, with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a smile that Louis stares at suspiciously when he opens the door.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Harry answers, extending the cookies towards Louis. “I just wanted to have a chat with you.”

“So you brought a bribe?” Louis asks, pulling his door open wider and letting Harry in, stealing the cookies as soon as the door closes behind them.

“It’s not a bribe. Okay, it is,” says Harry, folding his arms over his chest when Louis stares at him in, his disbelief written clearly across his face. “It’s not a bribe in the literal sense of the word. It’s more like, I’m going to talk to you about something, and I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it, so I’m warming you up to so that we can have a discussion.”

“About what?”

Harry sighs, sitting carefully at Louis’ desk. Maybe he should have gone to Liam about this. Liam’s always been a good listener and he’s been in several relationships, so he’d have some insight. And he won’t threaten to punch Harry if he says something about Zayn that he doesn’t like, not like Harry is going to, but still.

“I was just wondering something,” Harry says carefully, breathing out harshly. “This is kind of juvenile, and I wouldn’t ask unless—I don’t have an unless. I haven’t gotten that far in my thinking actually. Maybe I should come back later. Yeah, I’ll come back later,” says Harry, nodding and standing up. “You can keep the cookies. I’ll make more when I come back. If I come back, who knows?”

Louis holds his hand out, gently pushing Harry back towards the desk chair.

“You usually have your heart to hearts with Niall or Zayn, so I’ve already figured out that it’s about one of them. Or it’s about both of them,” Louis says, studying Harry carefully. “Which one is it?”

Harry swallows. “Zayn.”

Louis sighs and nods, flicking his hand around before he rubs at his face, like he was expecting this. “All right, what’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you could tell me, you know… It’s not like things are getting serious or anything, but I do have feelings for him, and he knows that, but I’m lost on how he feels,” Harry explains, watching as Louis shakes his head. “I’m not asking you to tell me if he does. I’m just… You’re his best friend, so maybe you could help me figure out how to talk to him.”

“If you don’t know how to talk to them, then—“

“No, It’s not that. It’s just.”

It feels like he can’t really go back now, and he just wants to know if Zayn feels the same way, or _could_ , before it’s too late for him.

“You really don’t know how to just let things happen as they happen, do you?” Louis mutters. “Listen, I’m not going tell you what Zayn may or may not be thinking or feeling, and I’m also going to tell you that you’re freaking out about this entirely too soon, like seriously Harry, it’s barely been three minutes into whatever you two have going on. He’s not Marissa. Not every relationship is going to be like that, where you just meet and stay together for a decade or whatever. You really need to learn to relax.”

 _Relax_ , Harry thinks, nodding. He can try that.

*

Harry relaxes. He goes to yoga and he keeps on top of his schoolwork. He has regular orgasms with Zayn, which helps exponentially to keep the stress away so that he can relax. It helps, knowing that Louis didn’t tell Zayn everything that they talked about. They’re friends, so of course they can trust each other, but Louis has always put Zayn before any of them, except for maybe Niall and a brief period of Liam, but Harry’s not really in his orbit as much.

Everything is going well. Louis’ advice to relax, and Harry’s unwavering determination to follow it, has allowed it to spread into so many parts of his life that Harry is amazed at well everything is going for him. And not just himself, but the people around him, because Marissa has tagged pictures on Instagram of herself kissing another guy, and Harry’s not naïve enough to believe she’s trying to make him jealous with them, which means that she’s out living her life and having a good time.

Of course, everything has to fall to shit at some point. No one – aside from maybe some really lucky people that have probably sold their souls has their shit together. It’s just not human nature, to be having everything functioning perfectly at the same time where nothing could ever go wrong.

And Harry hasn’t sold his soul to anyone - that he can remember at least - so that means something is going to fall apart, and it does, or at least it feels like it does.

Harry swings his door open and expects to find a normal scene, of Zayn studying, of Zayn watching something on his laptop, or Zayn sleeping, but he’s definitely not expecting Zayn and Brent together. In their room. On Zayn’s bed.

“Oh, hello,” Harry mutters, shutting the door carefully when Brent looks up at him, smirking.

It feels like he’s fallen into the past, tumbled down a rabbit’s hole that’s going to force him to live everything all over again. His own nightmare of a Groundhog’s Day where he’s forced to live the past couple weeks over and over again, a constant loop that starts and ends with Brent the fucking baseball player.

“Nice loss,” Harry says, because Brent won’t stop looking at him like he has secrets and Harry doesn’t want to know what they are.

“Hey,” Zayn says, not looking up at him and that’s annoying. He’s entertaining, too.

“It was hardly a loss,” Brent says.

“One point is one point. Difference between a loss and a win, depending how it goes.”

Brent shrugs and Harry wishes that he knew what to do so that he could break this guy, not physically. He doesn’t want to fight him. That’s not his thing, and even if it was, Brent is bigger than him. Maybe not taller, except by an inch or two at most, but he has more muscle. He’s bulkier, and Harry doesn’t have the patience to put in the months training it would take to even look like him.

“So, what are you two doing?” Harry asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Zayn says, looking up at him to smile briefly.

“Yeah, nothing,” Brent agrees. “Unless you want a show like last time.”

It’s bait and Harry should know better than to fall for it but it makes him mad. He grabs his keys and heads for the door, feeling a sense of deva ju, and if when the door slams shut, if his world resets back to him opening it with Zayn kissing that fucking asshole, he’s going to scream until he’s thirty-seven.

But it’s not _Groundhog’s Day_ , the world doesn’t give him a second chance. It’s just him and his anger, stomping out of their dorm building and onto campus with nowhere to go and nothing to do besides be angry because of Brent and his own insecurities.

*

Harry makes it to the park around the corner before he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t have ran out of his own dorm room. Brent was looking for a reaction and Harry gave him, just because he doesn’t know how fucking _relax_ and trust that things are going to happen as they happen, and Zayn being alone with another guy doesn’t mean anything, at least not anything that Harry’s traitorous mind can cook up.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry drops down on a park bench and puts his head in his hands, wondering what he ever did to come out like this.

“You fucking idiot,” Harry groans, digging the palm of his hands into his eyes until it goes white. “You fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, you fucking idiot,” a voice says, and Harry pulls away, blinking to find Zayn standing in front of him. “What the hell was that?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, confused.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Chasing after you. Now, what the hell was that?”

“I just—I hate that guy,” he says, because he doesn’t know what the hell that was. The guy struck a nerve and Harry just…bolted.

“Yeah, he’s a dick. Why did you run?”

“I don’t know, you were alone with him, and he—“

“I fix his papers for him, Harry, just like I do for Liam and a shit ton of other people at this school,” says Zayn, shaking his head angrily.

Harry’s shoulders drop. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, must have been to know that when you didn’t fucking ask. Instead, you hear one shitty comment and run off. And yeah, it was a shitty comment, and if you had stayed longer than three seconds, you’d have heard me tell him off before kicking him out”

“Well, I thought—“

“Yeah, I know what you fucking thought,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “And I thought you trusted me.”

Harry’s eyes go wide and he flails a bit. “I do,” he cries, because he does. “I’ve just been… Okay, you’re bound to find out when you ultimately tell Louis about this later, but I had a talk with him because I’ve just been really unsure about, I don’t know, how you feel and stuff. And, like, what our deal was, you know? Not like I’m asking for a commitment or a two-story in the suburbs with a picket fence and a dog, just, like, some kind of assurance, because I’m apparently pretty insecure lately. And an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are an idiot,” sighs Zayn, rubbing his face tiredly. “Was it you want? Do you want me to put it on a banner in the sky or some shit, because obviously I like you, too, you fucking idiot. I have for ages, well before you caught up and figured your shit out.”

“Wait,” Harry says, eyes roaming over Zayn’s face to see if he’s lying. He doesn’t know Zayn’s tells but he doesn’t think he’d lie about this. “You like me, too? And you have, for a while?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, how could you, I never said anything.”

“Huh,” Harry mutters, feeling warmth spread throughout his body, from his toes to his ears, curling around him pleasantly.

It’s probably the best news that Harry has gotten in ages, the knowledge that Zayn is in this for him like Harry is in this for Zayn. And he has been, when Harry was still with Marissa and when Harry was still trying to understand the pleasant flips of his stomach that Zayn’s look would give him, because Zayn is _everything_. He’s everything that Harry could want, wrapped up in one person. He’s smart and kind, generous and confident, unapologetic about who he is, and he cares so deeply for the people that he loves, his friends and family, and how could Harry not realize it sooner? How he felt, how deeply he wants to intertwine his soul around Zayn’s.

“Well, unfortunately,” Harry says, watching Zayn frown, “I’m very committed to someone, to my roommate, and it’s getting ready to get kind of serious, so—“

Zayn snorts and rolls his eyes.

“You could probably take him,” Harry continues. “Definitely couldn’t take his guard dog best friend, but I mean, I guess I’ll let you fight over me.”

“You’re weird. I’m going home,” Zayn says, turning on his heel and walking away. Harry jumps up and runs after him, laughing.

“Don’t forget me,” he sings, “the boy you like.”

“I take it back.”

“No, you can’t,” Harry cries, ready to get dramatic.

Zayn stops and looks at him for a second, smiling. “No, I guess I can’t.”

Harry grins, feeling like he’s struck gold when he gets to lean forward and kiss Zayn.


End file.
